


First, Do No Harm

by orphan_account



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Angst, Emotional, Gen, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 18:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14218656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Bobby Drake reaches out to Hank McCoy in the aftermath.***Archivist note: This fic was written by Poi Lass and is archived here as a courtesy to readers.





	First, Do No Harm

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: They're Marvel's, who doesn't deserve them. I have no permission. I make no money.
> 
> Warning: There's a lot of swearing, and no happy bunnies. Angst alert.
> 
> Notes: Any typos are deliberate. Any apparent plot holes are illusory. Arguably I could've gone into more detail concerning certain things, but the story just didn't want me to. Don't lose any sleep over it unless you're going to write it down afterwards.
> 
>  
> 
> Dedication: To Jaya Mitai. Because. ;-)

Subj: Hank, you're an idiot.

Date: 03/31/99 03:13:48 EST

From: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

To: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

Hank,

I _know_ you're reading your email. You _always_ read your email. Civilisation as we know it could end, we could all be living in the sewers, surviving on rats and flourescent mould, and you'd still be poking around the wreckage looking for bits of metal, to built a computer from scratch, so that you could read your email.

So come home okay? We miss you. I miss you. I can't believe you just took off like that. And I can't believe some _more_ that you haven't come back yet. it's been nearly three weeks, aren't you done yet? It's going to be okay, okay? _I'm_ going to be okay. There's a whole lot of okay goin' on. So stop wallowing in guilt already, and come home.

Bobby.

 

Subj: You're still an idiot, and getting dumber every day.

Date: 4/3/99 21:15:04 EST

From: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

To: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

Hank,

This is stupid. _You_ are being stupid, and it's really not a good look for you. It clashes with the whole genius thing. There's no reason for you to run off like that. No-one blames you. It wasn't your fault, Hank. Will you please just come back?

Bobby.

 

Subj: Dumb & dumber

Date: 4/5/99 11:19:54 EST

From: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

To: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

Dear Idiot,

God damn it. How many times do I have to say it? It was an accident. It was a mistake. _IT WASN'T YOUR FAULT_. I fucking _forgive you_, if that makes you feel better, even though there's nothing to forgive. Shit happens. We'll cope. Just come the hell home.

Bobby.

 

Subj: How dumb _are_ you??!

Date: 4/8/99 23:45:12 EST

From: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

To: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

Moron,

You're really starting to piss me off now, you know that? Where the fuck are you, anyway? I know you're not on Muir, I checked. Not staying with the Avengers, not hanging with whatshisname, that weird doctor friend of yours. Alan? Alex? Ivan? Anyway, not there. You fucked up Cerebro but good before you left, and the prof can't find you either. I got Remy to trace your credit cards, but you're not using them. What are you living on?

You know, I'm really starting to get worried. Do you _want_ me to worry? I'm told it won't help my health. Not that you'd know anything about that, what with your not being _here_, and all. And no, I have no qualms whatsoever about using emotional blackmail. Whatever works, right?

So, is it working?

Bobby.

 

Subj: Damn it,

Date: 4/10/99 00:32:31 EST

From: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

To: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

you could at least call.

 

Subj: (no subject)

Date: 4/10/99 00:34:02 EST

From: mailto:coolguy@xaviers.edu.co (Robert Drake)

To: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

Or send a fucking postcard.

 

Subj: Consider me surprised...

Date: 4/10/99 00:47:27 EST

From: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

To: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

Y'know,

I really had no idea you were this good at self-flagellation. I can only assume that you've never fucked up before, and that's why you're taking it so hard now.

Welcome to the human race, blue. How are you liking it so far?

Bobby.

P.S. You'll _have_ to come back now. You know you will. I just used the word self-flagellation in a real live sentence, and spelled it right too. You must now come home and check for pods.

P.P.S. Okay, I admit, I had to use the spell checker.

 

Subj: Pods

Date: 4/10/99 13:51:29 EST

From: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

To: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

Hank,

Speaking of pod people, today Bishop told a dirty joke. If you come home, I promise never to tell it to you.

Bobby.

 

Subj: Okay, you asked for it,

Date: 4/12/99 20:37:55 EST

From: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

To: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

here's Bishop's joke:

`Two guys went to a fancy dress party (are you scared yet Hank? Are you?)

The first guy came completely naked, with his penis in a bowl of custard. The second guy came in, went over to a potplant in a corner of the room, and peed in it.

The hostess was a little annoyed.

She said, "Look, what's all this about? This is a fancy dress party, not a student orgy. I asked you to come as an emotion or a feeling."

The second guy said, "We did. I came as pissed off, and he's fucking dis-custard."'

 

I told you you'd regret not coming home.

Bobby.

 

Subj: Bishop's joke,

Date: 4/13/99 01:56:01 EST

From: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

To: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

Fine, okay, so _I_ taught him the joke and he only told it cos he lost a bet. And he fluffed the punchline. But he still told it. Damn it, if only I'd thought ahead a little, I could've gotten it on tape. I never woulda made a good Girl Guide...

Bobby.

 

Subj: ET, come home.

Date: 4/15/99 23:56:01 EST

From: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

To: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

Hank,

come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, come home, YOU STUPID BIG BLUE *JERK*!!!

Bobby.

 

Subj: Your postcard

Date: 4/17/99 10:11:48 EST

From: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

To: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

Hank,

Ha, I _knew_ you were reading your email. Got your postcard today. Very informative. Very... blank.

Is that supposed to be some kind of ironic comment? If Logan hadn't sent the ol' snifter to work, we wouldn't even have known it came from you.

Frankly, I was hoping for a bit ... _more_ in the way of communication. Not that I'm not _grateful_ for the blank postcard. I mean, I'll treasure it, really. But I was actually kinda hoping for something more along the lines of an address, and "wish you were here".

Or maybe "out to lunch, back in two weeks."

Bobby.

 

Subj: Are you even there?

Date: 4/23/99 21:08:06 EST

From: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

To: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

Or am I just talking to myself?

 

Subj: Re: Are you even there?

Date: 4/23/99 22:45:32 EST

From: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

To: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

 

> Or am I just talking to myself? <

No. I'm here.

 

Subj: Re: Are you even there?

Date: 4/24/99 13:51:13 EST

From: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

To: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

Hank,

Good to _finally_ hear from you, but :

> No. I'm here. <

That's the point. You're _there_, wherever the hell `there' is. You should be _here_. As in home. So drop a quarter, the guys will pick you up in the `bird, and you'll be home by tonight. Start packing.

Bobby.

 

Subj: I know where you ar-re...

Date: 4/25/99 20:14:49 EST

From: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

To: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

Hank,

The guys finally got around to mentioning that they _knew_ where you were, and had been to see you, and just decided _not_ to mention it to me. In case I got _upset_. Oh no, we mustn't upset poor lil Bobby, must we... Well fuck you all. I know now, and if you don't come home, then I'll steal the fucking `bird and come drag you back myself. You know I can do it.

Bobby.

 

Subj: (no subject)

Date: 4/26/99 9:37:12 EST

From: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

To: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

Bastard,

You son of a bitch! I can't believe you told them to put a fucking collar on me! You FUCK! Fucking FUCK YOU, Hank. You ran out on me _DOCTOR_ McCoy, you don't have any right to inquire about my fucking health, or worry about it, or to tell them to keep me here, or anything! A fucking _collar_???! What am I, your dog? Fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU!

Drake.

 

Subj: Re: (no subject)

Date: 4/26/99 14:23:58 EST

From: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

To: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

Bobby,

> You son of a bitch! I can't believe you told them to

> put a fucking collar on me! You FUCK! Fucking FUCK YOU,

> Hank. You ran out on me _DOCTOR_ McCoy, you don't have

> any right to inquire about my fucking health, or worry

> about it, or to tell them to keep me here, or anything!

> A fucking _collar_???! What am I, your _dog_? Fuck you,

> fuck you, _FUCK_ YOU!

You're upset about the collar, aren't you. I can tell.

Hank.

 

Subj: Re: (no subject)

Date: 4/27/99 23:16:01 EST

From: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

To: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

> You're upset about the collar, aren't you. I can tell.

So, finally got your sense of humor back, huh? That's good. But don't think I'm not still majorly pissed about this.

Bobby.

 

Subj: Re: (no subject)

Date: 4/28/99 04:34:21 EST

From: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

To: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

Bobby,

>> You're upset about this, aren't you. I can tell.

> So, finally got your sense of humor back, huh?

No.

> That's good. But don't think I'm not still majorly

> pissed about this.

I knew you wouldn't appreciate it, obviously. But it is necessary Robert. I'm sorry.

Hank.

 

Subj: Re: (no subject)

Date: 4/28/99 19:09:27 EST

From: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

To: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

Hank,

> I knew you wouldn't appreciate it, obviously. But it is

> necessary Robert. I'm sorry.

To be perfectly blunt here Blue, I'm sick to death of your `sorry' (no pun intended). You don't have to be sorry. There's nothing to be sorry _for_. You just need to come back.

Losing the collar would be nice too, but I know it's necessary, I'm not a complete idiot. I don't want to take everyone in the mansion with me. Or anyone, even.

Bobby.

 

Subj: Re: (no subject)

Date: 4/28/99 19:23:12 EST

From: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

To: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

> Losing the collar would be nice too, but I know it's

> necessary, I'm not a

> complete idiot. I don't want to take everyone in the

> mansion with me. Or

> anyone, even.

Don't. Please, don't Bobby, just - don't.

 

Subj: There's nothing wrong with avoidance a little denial can't fix.

Date: 4/28/99 19:39:54 EST

From: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

To: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

Hank,

> Don't. Please, don't Bobby, just - don't.

Don't what? Talk about dying? Sorry Blue, but you're gonna have to deal with it sooner or later, and avoidance and denial is really more my thing than yours. So let's just lay it all out here, okay? I'm dying. You know it, I know it, the `family' might want to pretend ev-ry-thing's gon-na be o-kay, cha-cha-cha, but I think you and I need to stop dancing around it. I know you can cure Legacy, and you know it won't be in time. And that sucks, okay, that really does suck, but it's okay. I'm doing okay.

Look, I know you're online, can we take this to a chat room or something? Here's the link.

Bobby.

*welcome to private chatroom 125. blueguy and coolguy in residence.*

 

Coolguy: Hey Blue. Glad you could make it. How you doing?

Blueguy: Fine.

Blueguy: How are you?

Coolguy: Hang on...

*coolguy will now be known as drake:*

Drake: Just so we don't get confused... ;->. I'm doing fine. As I'm sure you already know, given the weekly updates you've been getting from Cece.

Drake: Should I ask about the research, or are we not talking about that either?

Blueguy: I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go behind your back. The research is progressing. We'll find a cure.

Drake: I know you will. And I don't care about the updates, I just wish you'd get them from _me_. Or get them yourself. By being here.

Drake: So. Why don't we leap right in and discuss why you're avoiding us? And in particular, moi?

Drake: Hank?

Drake: Ignoring me now too?

Drake: For fuck's sake Hank. It was an _accident_.

Blueguy: No it _wasn't_.

Blueguy: Is that what they told you? It was deliberate Bobby, I deliberately infected you with the Legacy Virus.

Drake: :::shrugs::: Fine, you don't like accident, `mistake' then. Fuck up. Oopsie.

Drake: And of-course they told me what happened. And Jesus, it wasn't like you shot me up with undiluted death or something Blue, stop being so fucking melodramatic. It was supposed to be a vaccine for fuck's sake, you weren't trying to _hurt_ me. You were trying to save my life.

Blueguy: Oopsie? Robert... If we don't find a cure in time, I've as good as killed you.

Drake: So who wants to live forever?

Drake: Hank?

Drake: Hank? Yoohoo, c'mon, talk to me big guy.

*blueguy has left the chatroom*

Drake: Shit.

Subj: Here we go again.

Date: 4/28/99 20:05:31 EST

From: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

To: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

Hank,

Well, _that_ was a big success. Fine, I get the picture. I won't mention the thing-which-is-not-to-be-mentioned again. I hope you realise though, no-one else is letting me mention it either. It's all happy-happy-joy-joy round here. I'm practically choking on the optimism. And I thought _I_ was good at denial. Sheesh.

Look, would you at least come back to the goddamn chat room? Would you please just do this for me, okay? We can talk about something else, all right? We can just _talk_. Can't we even do that anymore?

Bobby.

*welcome to private chatroom 125. blueguy and drake in residence.*

Drake: Thanks Hank.

Drake: I mean, y'know, for coming back.

Drake: Okay. So, whaddaya wanna talk about?

Drake: Somehow I don't imagine you've been doing much dating... Which is a good thing, actually, cos I still think you and Reyes would be good for each other, now that Trish is history ;-).

Drake: Oops. That was tactless. I didn't mean it like that. I mean I didn't mean, with the smiley, that I was glad you and Trish broke up. Just that, y'know... Cece would be good for you. Um.

Drake: :::carefully removes foot from mouth.:::

Drake: Um, Hank?

Drake: Feel free to join in the conversation any time.

Drake: :::twiddles thumbs:::

Blueguy: Sorry.

Drake: I _know_.

Blueguy: I have to go.

Drake: Don't. You. Fucking. _Dare_.

Drake: Hank??!

Blueguy: I'm still here.

Blueguy: Robert, what do you want me to _say_?

Drake: Anything but `Sorry'.

Drake: Jesus, well at least I finally know how to shut you up...

Blueguy: You're driving everyone there crazy, aren't you.

Drake: Is that you making an over-educated guess, Dr McCoy? Yeah, I'm doin' my best. Got my favourite partner in crime helping me out.

Blueguy: Invisible Wayne?

Drake: Oh yeah, ha, ha. I'm laughing on the inside Hank, really I am. Jubilee. She's visiting. I wanted to ask you

Blueguy: Ask me...? Yes?

Drake: Sorry. meant to delete, not send. Doesn't matter.

Blueguy: Tell me anyway.

Drake: But it's not-to-be-mentioned.

Drake: Hank?

Blueguy: Tell me anyway Bobby.

Drake: Oookay. Fine.

You think I should send her back to school, or let her stay?

Drake: I mean, she said she wants to stay, and maybe Logan would be more help than her friends, but - I just dunno. She was pretty fucked up when Illyana died. I don't think she should be here.

Drake: Emma doesn't either.

Drake: I knew I shouldn't have told you.

Blueguy: Send her back to school.

Drake: That's what I thought. Okay. I will then. Thanks. Pretty soon, probably.

Drake: Are you going to be here?

Drake: Right, never mind, forget I asked, abrupt change of subject.

Drake: Here's one: I'm going bungi-jumping on the weekend.

Blueguy: I hope that's a joke.

Drake: No. Why? I've never been, I always wanted to try it. I mean, sure, I've done plenty of stupider things, but I've never done this particular stupid thing, and I figure I should try `em all. Collect the set. You know how obsessive I am about my hobbies. Besides, I kinda miss the constant adreneline rush, now that I'm not going on missions. Is there such a thing as action-withdrawal?

Blueguy: You can't go bungi-jumping Bobby. Don't be ridiculous.

Drake: Don't be a _dick_ Blue. I can if I want to. And I wanna, so I'm gonna ;-P. I'm going to tie a stretchy rope around my feet, and jump off a damn high building, and bounce. It'll be fun. Vomit inducing, possibly, but fun. Don't you think?

Blueguy: No, I don't think. I don't think you're in any condition to be doing anything of the sort.

Drake: And whos fault is that?

Drake: Ah, _shit_.

God Hank, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm so full of shit, you know I am. I didn't _mean_ it, you just make me so mad, acting like you're supposed to be fucking Jesus or somwethign, get everything right all the time. And I just - I need someone to talk to, and it should be you, it's always you, but you're not here, and I can't even tell you I'm scared, because you'll just start feeling _more_ guilty, and I don't _want_ your guilt. I don't _blame_ you. Not for a second, not for _that_ - but yeah, actually, y'know for this, this _not being here_ crap, I _do_ blame you. And I am angry, and I want to hit you, or maybe just _somebody_ , and seeng as were in a chat room, the best I can do is be really mean, and I'm sorry.

*blueguy has left the chatroom*

Drake: zxc m,.\\\

*drake has left the chatroom*

Subj: And back to square one...

Date: 4/28/99 20:37:51 EST

From: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

To: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

Hank,

You couldn't even wait around for my apology? Jesus, blue. This duck and run thing of yours is gettting real old, real fast. If you'd just stuck around thirty more seconds, you woulda seen me grovel. Cos you know, I _am_ angry at you, and I _did_ say it to hurt you, but not because of the thing-which-is-not-to-be-mentioned. I meant what I said, I don't blame you for that. But I am pissed by your continued absence.

What are you punishing me for?

Bobby.

 

Subj: Re: And back to square one...

Date: 4/28/99 21:01:45 EST

From: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

To: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

Bobby,

> You couldn't even wait around for my apology? <

You have nothing to apologise for.

 

Subj: Bobby And His Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.

Date: 4/28/99 21:14:04 EST

From: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

To: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

Hank,

> You have nothing to apologise for. <

Oh no, of-course I don't. I can do no wrong, can I. I'm Saint Robert the Perfect, Bobby the soon to be Matyred. I'm not dead yet Hank, could we please postpone the fucking canonisation?

Christ, I wish people would stop making exceptions for my and my attitude because of the thing-which-is-not-to-be-mentioned. I was an asshole. Be pissed at me. You can do it, I know you can. God damn it, you're still _allowed_.

::sigh::

Right... so, should I change the subject and pretend I didn't notice the way you completely avoided responding to the rest of the letter?

... Nah.

So okay. Okay. To quote someone or other, your stubbornness has ceased to be a virtue. I'd let it go if I had the time to wait for you to come around, but I don't. So I won't, I can't. I don't want to shuffle off knowing you're going to be killing yourself with guilt - not to mention overwork, 10 bucks says you aren't sleeping more than 2 hours in every 24... but anyway...

So will you just tell me, what the hell are you afraid will happen if you see me?

Because nothing's gonna happen. I don't hate you. I don't want to hurt you. The world almost certainly won't end, though I guess you can never be too sure with us.

Although, actually, and here's an atypically insightful psychological comment from me (stop staring, you aren't the only one with access to a dictionary) I think you'd probably feel better if I _did_ want to hurt you, wouldn't you? Penance, right? Redemption through suffering and all that shit (hey, I went to Sunday School). Geez, Blue, and you not even a catholic...

So - what then, are you scared if you actually _see_ me, you'll be able to tell that I really _don't_ hate you, and neither does anyone else? And then you'll have to _forgive_ yourself? (and would someone please tell me when the hell _I_ became the adult in this relationship?)

Hank, Hank, Hank, what am I supposed to do with you? You're my best friend. You're my family. I love you. I don't want you to blame yourself, and I don`t want you to hurt. Is any of this getting through to you? Am I going to have to get sappy?

Because I may start holding a grudge after all if you force me to get sappy.

Bobby.

 

Subj: (no subject)

Date: 4/29/99 02:34:56 EST

From: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

To: coolguy@xaviers.edu.com (Robert Drake)

My friend,

Given that I am supposed to be a man of words, of letters, I don't know why it should so constantly be of late that I have none. Given that I am also supposed to be a man of courage, I don't know why I should be so likewise bereft of it. Though I seem to still have a near infinite supply of pomposity...

I can't face you.

It is not that there is nothing I need to say to you. Bobby, the list of things I need to tell you is endless. But all the things on it are apologies; you refuse to accept them, and I can't not apologise. I can't find other words. I can't find any words at all. You say you are sick of my sorry, I am just sick, heart and soul, that I have done this to you.

You ask me what I'm afraid will happen if I come home, I'm not sure I even know. Everything you say is entirely sensible, logical, rational (perhaps I should check for pods after all.)

But I just can't seem to come home. I just... can't.

And I think you understand me better than you pretend to. You usually do.

A wise man would probably delete this and start over, and I must be very wise, because I've done that twelve or so times already. But it's late, and I am so tired, and I've gone too long without replying already.

And I don't want you to think that I'm ignoring you. I never do, you know.

Hank

 

Subj: Message from Bobby

Date: 4/30/99 15:18:28 EST

From: fearlessleader@xaviers.edu.com (Scott S.)

To: blueguy@xaviers.edu.com (Henry McCoy)

Hank,

I guess Cecelia told you, Bobby's been in quarantine for the last couple of weeks. He still has a computer in there, but he's getting too weak to use it, so he asked me to send you this:

"If you're not back before I bite it, I'll haunt you forever, you big stupid ball of fur. All is forgiven. Come the fuck home."

I thought about... paraphrasing, but he told me not to. Besides, I thought it had a certain something, just the way it was.

He also told us to give you until tomorrow to come back by yourself, otherwise, we're coming to get you, and I swear Hank, I will haul you home by the fur myself if you aren't back in 24 hours. I never wanted to have to say this, but there isn't a lot of time left. It's progressed so much faster than we expected. You need to be here. Bobby needs you to be here. We all do.

Come the fuck home.

 

Scott.

"Hank." Jean hugged him, hard, and pulled away wiping tears out of her eyes. "Okay." She said firmly after a moment. "You need to put on a isolation suit if you want to go in there."

"I don't need -"

"Put on the damn suit Hank." Her voice was edged with grief. "I am not losing you too."

He put on the suit before he went in.

"Hank." Bobby said, and smiled. "Well finally." And then he started laughing, weakly, painfully. "Jesus. Have you seen yourself? You look like a big yellow blimp in that thing!" And gestured him over, tugged him close, hugged him as hard as he could through the yellow blimp suit, and whispered, "It's okay,"

And, "No it isn't," Hank somehow managed not to say, "Nothing's okay."


End file.
